Evidence Gone Cold
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: Another take on behind the scenes. [Drabble collection][2. Eric, Calleigh, and a bit of bad luck]
1. insomnia :HoratioCalleigh:

_A/N_; I find it odd that this is my first CSI: Miami fic when I've been a fan for a while. Oh well.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own CSI: Miami, nor am I making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**Evidence Gone Cold**

_Theme_: Insomnia  
_Characters_: Horatio/Calleigh  
_Genre_: family/friendship/humor (maybe?)  
_Rating_: K

Calleigh slumped down over the table, allowing herself only brief rest. She'd been at this case for days, and she was pressed for time, but _Lord_ she was tired. One thirty-minute nap a day for 72 hours is hard on the body. And eyes. And all-around focus. Where _was_ her coffee...?

"Calleigh?"

"Not... available," she mumbled, borrowing farther into her warm sleeves.

"Calleigh..."

"Coffee," she replied in a muffled voice, one hand slipping loose and laying palm-up on the table.

"Go home."

Her head snapped up. Disarrayed blonde hair flew everywhere, and heavy eyes gazed up at this angelic figure before her.

"Can't. The case--"

"You can't function properly like this," Horatio said firmly, hands on his hips. She gave a small moan.

"I can try."

"You'd be a liability. I need you to be alert."

"I just need coffee."

"What you need," he said, placing his hand on her arm, "is sleep. Now, if you'll stand up, I'll take you home. When you get back, then we'll fill you in and you can pick up where you left off." He gave a small smile. "We can function at _least_ a day without you."

"Promise?" she said thickly, standing on sore legs.

"About filling you in?"

"About a day's worth of sleep."

Horatio chuckled, leading her through the door, hand on her back. "I promise."


	2. luck :EricCalleigh:

_A/N_; This was inspired by something my mother said one day as we discussed Calleigh's luck with men (or lack thereof).

**Evidence Gone Cold**

_Theme_: Luck  
_Characters_: Eric/Calleigh  
_Genre_: humor/romance/friendship  
_Rating_: K+  
_Song_: Merry Happy, by Kate Nash

She glanced into the neon-lit room and smiled at the sight that greeted her: Eric with a gun in his hands. It wasn't just the fact that he was holding the weapon that made her grin... it was the way he looked at it. Like it was more complex than it really was. Like it puzzled him more than a woman ever could. She snorted at the thought and stepped inside.

"What's going on?" she asked. He turned, a frown evident on his features.

"Nothing," he grumbled, placing the gun on the table in front of him.

"You looked almost paranoid there," she chuckled. He gave her his small, almost-sarcastic, sort-of-smile look and turned back to the gun.

"I've... never had much luck with firearms."

"Oh?" She stepped to his side, placing her finger on the holster and sliding it towards her and spinning it aimlessly on the smooth tabletop. He watched.

"Most times..." he shrugged lightly, as if trying to tell himself something that she couldn't hear, "someone dies when I have a gun in my hands."

"Well, that _is_ what firearms were meant for," she reminded him lightly. He smiled.

"Yeah, well, it's never me shooting. Women are more my specialty."

"Ah." She nodded, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've never had any luck with men. Guns are _my_ only specialty."

"No..." he sad, going into (semi)deep thought. "There was..."

Her eyebrows rose. He stayed in (semi)deep thought for the next moment, and when he dragged it on for another dramatic two, she rolled her eyes. "I get it. I know."

He grinned. "Maybe we can compromise."

"How so?"

"If you'll give me half of your luck with firearms, I'll give you--"

"I don't want to know how to pick up chicks, thanks," she cut off cooly, slipping the weapon into the holster under her lab coat and folding her arms across her chest.

"Well, it's a handy skill nonetheless."

"One I'm not particularly keen on having."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"I will," she replied, smiling at him under thin, dark lashes. Eric grabbed the other, unhandled gun that lay lifeless a foot away. He tucked it in his belt as well and gestured toward the door.

"H is probably waiting."

"Probably."

"I think it's a big case."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

She stared. He stared back.

"So, is seven alright with you?"

"At the shooting range?"

"I'll be there."

"But I'll be there first."

She grinned. "I'm sure you will."


End file.
